Couched

Yesterday the song that is rapidly becoming one of my favorite tunes was once again issuing forth from my TV speakers sending a siren call that cannot be ignored. I am speaking, of course, of the theme music for the NFL Red Zone which featured its first full day of action for the new season. This filled the need for relevant sports programming (considering the debacle of the Sox from May through July) with no less than seven hours of commercial free football.

It’s appropriate that fall weather also started creeping in over the weekend as well. The college kids who inhabit the houses surrounding the Keene Friend seem to be on their best behavior this year. Could it be the Keene State administration has finally started to assume some responsibility for their students’ conduct in the host town? As soon as we went to bed on Saturday night, the fairly lively party that was ongoing across the street moved inside. It was a nice gesture even though I could have slept through a moderate sized gunfight after the beer sent downrange celebrating the Keene Friend’s birthday earlier that day. Buddy got his required early morning walk around Keene and we all went out to breakfast before hurrying home to accomplish pre-football tasks.

I checked in to Face Book a couple times during the day to find myself chastised by high school classmates who would have joined us Saturday if I had been more energetic with broadcasting our actual location. I took the counseling to heart and I guess I should mention there is a party next Saturday at Keene Friend Two’s house for all of us turning 60 this year. Contact me if you’re available late Saturday, the 19^th, afternoon. If you turned 60 this year and are affiliated with the KHS class of 1973 is some arcane fashion – you will be welcome.

Participation in fantasy football really does change the way you watch football. There are no meaningless games now. The Red Zone is the perfect complement to this. I greeted the host like a long lost friend when he appeared for the first time. My wife asked me who I was talking to and just shaking her head in disbelief. My team did fairly well and would have won against almost anybody else in the league except, predictably, the guy I was playing, none other than the commissioner himself, my favorite son. I’m sure he’s found some way to manipulate scoring to his advantage; that is the only explanation as to why I was so soundly defeated. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Granite State Grounding

I paid for the fun I eventually endured yesterday by spending a significant time wandering the traffic wasteland of Connecticut. The recently arrived Panamanians had NYC reservations and we volunteered to take them to New Haven to catch a metro-north train into Grand Central Station. We were thoroughly immersed in the always diverting traffic quagmire when I innocently asked my wife if she remembered to bring the Keene Friend’s birthday presents. The only answer I received was a gasp and wail. So the Keene Friend will get his birthday gifts later this week.

Wife and Birthday Boy at Twinkle Town Yesterday

I also learned the drive from New Haven to Keene is not fun but it is beautiful once you get north of Springfield. We could see the first tinges of fall starting to manifest in the trees; seems a bit early for that, especially given all the recent heat. We had Buddy in the back of the car who liked his extended time in the cage because he knew Keene Friend was waiting for him at the end of the trip. Keene Friend had his customary bone and bowl of water waiting for Buddy when he opened the door to greet us.

Keene Friend at our First Position at Elm City Brewery

After abject apologies for the missing presents we headed out to play a round of miniature golf which my wife acquired a taste for during her recent Maine trip. It’s always been one of Keene Friend’s forte which he demonstrated aptly over the next hour or so thoroughly drubbing us both, but always in a self-depreciating manner. It was kind of nostalgic because I worked for the original owner of Twinkle Town, the miniature golf course, when I was in college. His son now operates it and looks just like his dad did back in the day. I asked about his dad to learn he’s still around and recently turned 94.

Cantankerous Freind Joined us in our Fifth Seating Position

Somehow (and I’m still trying to figure out how this happened) Keene Friend and I ended up in a pub after the game while my wife sneaked away to some shopping. Keene Friend and I tried to negotiate our way through the completely unfamiliar environment we found ourselves in. Luckily our favorite (and the best) bartendress in Keene was ably support our shock at the Elm City Brewery. We planned on hitting a few more pubs but a very entertaining college football game was showing and I did mention the bartendress, didn’t I? We kept the Pittsburgh College Roommate apprised of our progress.

Late Dinner at Margarita's

After the game ended with us still at the bar (in our fifth different seating location after several tactical upgrades as the crowd shifted) I asked the bartendress to turn the game to the Red Sox game since we heard David Ortiz had hit his 499^th home run earlier. A few minutes later we were lucky enough to capture the moment we hit his historic 500^th. The Cantankerous Friend wandered in to join the festivities which gave us the opportunity to discuss fantasy football and question the actions of our commissioner, the favorite son.

Ortiz Watches his 500th Depart the Realm

We hoped to have some other members of our high school class join us but forgot the all-important phone numbers needed to advertise our location. My wife had the cell phone connection to my Facebook account which TJ Maxx firmly asserted control over so were cut off from that. We suffered through this deprivation about as well as could be expected. Well into the evening my wife rescued us from further depletion of our brain cell population and squired us for dinner at Margarita’s.

Buddy in Serious Beg Mode

A return to Keene Friend’s home involved the long overdue birthday cake with Buddy flitting around the edges trying to steal anything that fell to the floor. Animals have an innate sense about sources of food and Buddy rightfully assumed, given our condition at the time, the floor was a target rich environment. Keene Friend 2 showed up to enjoy the birthday cake with us. A great way to end what had been an overly fun day and a fitting tribute to Keene Friend, a constant pool of excellence.

Wife Attacking Keene Friend with his Cake

He Didn't Wear it

Old Friends, New Arrivals, and Jack Back

Today is a big day for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that it marks the birthday of Keene Friend, one of the finest human beings currently drawing breath. He’s one of those guys that the female of the species have always been drawn to and men look forward to hanging out with. He’s always been there for me and my family. My “kids” have always called him “Uncle” because he truly is the brother I never had. After some running around this morning we’re going to run up to New Hampshire to hang out with him and slay a birthday cake.

Birthday Boy

Last night we had the distinct pleasure of picking up the latest wave of Panamanian invaders after fighting our way through some tough Boston traffic. One of my wife’s best friends from her childhood along with her son and his girlfriend did a much better job at clearing customs than their predecessors of a few weeks ago. We got back to the house for a very fun dinner my wife had prepped ahead of time. It’s nice to finally have another guy in the house after all the estrogen prior waves of visitors involved; added bonus – he’s a beer drinker! Buddy immediately set about charming them and by the end of the night had them firmly in his camp.

My Wife With Our Latest Visitors and Demon Eyed Buddy

My wife had that special glow in her eyes reserved for when she’s happily surrounded by old friends. The next door Mafioso even made a late night appearance to sample my wife’s latest culinary triumph, a pumpkin cheesecake. I, of course, stayed as far away from that as possible. It’s fun to have a full house again. We’ll leave shortly to drop them off in Connecticut for a train ride into New York City where they’ll spend the next few days. This allows us the freedom to run up to Keene for the above mentioned festivities.

When I finished my latest book a couple days ago I opened my kindle up and found that Lee Child had published another Jack Reacher book, Make Me (perfect title for those of us familiar with Reacher). I performed my usual headlong, frenzied reading of Jack’s latest adventure. He steps off a train in the middle of wheat fields simply because he wanted to know the origin of the town’s name. Since its Reacher he’s soon embroiled with a mysterious organization that tries to scare him off. Big mistake. The bodies start to pile up immediately.

Child takes Reacher is a slightly different direction this time, making him slightly vulnerable at times. He gets tagged in the head in an early fight which comprises some of his prodigious lethality. He teams up with an-ex FBI agent, female, of course, to track down a missing colleague. This leads him across the country from Chicago, to Arizona, Los Angeles, San Francisco before returning to the wheat field for a typically riveting climatic confrontation. A great read, if, as usual, I did it too quickly. Reacher is impossible to put down, on a number of levels.

Never Forget and Start of Revenge Tour

The Birthday Girl Yesterday

First I must take a moment to note yesterday’s birthday of my fabulous mother in law. She didn’t know what to make of me and my broken Spanish back in 1982 when I was trying to convince her to let me marry her daughter after a three day courtship. Fortunately she was able to overcome her better judgement and thirty-three years later she remains one of my favorite people in the world. Family gathered around her yesterday to properly recognize this extraordinary lady. Feliz Cumpleanos and thanks for the begrudging initial approval. I hope I’ve redeemed the chance you took on me all those years ago in that seafood restaurant.

PanaGal Supplied Cake

Birthday Brunch with Husband and Brother

The object of that permission, my favorite Panamanian, took up station next to me last night to watch the start of Tom Brady’s revenge tour through opposing teams begin. She did take a few moments to criticize the players I drafted for our fantasy football team, asking how our son obtained Antonio Bryant instead of us. It didn’t help that Bryant was running pell-mell around the Gillette Stadium last night. 

Other Teams - Be Afraid - Be Very Afraid
(Especially the Colts)

Brady looked like a man bent on exacting payment for the injustice and mean spiritedness he’s been forced to endure over the past few months. The Steelers defense was fortunately as bad as the Patriots’ was and Brady shredded them. It wouldn’t be Gillette if there wasn’t some controversy as the NFL supplied headsets were not working. A conspiracy theorist could opine that the NFL was doing this to stoke the flames against the Patriots. The Steelers coach whined after the game which only goes to show how much Belichek is in the heads of mere mortals.

The words below are the same I publish each year on September 11 to remember that day in 2001. With the rush and bustle of everyday life people have a tendency to soften or even twist what really happened that day. The Wahhabi fundamentalists that launched these cowardly attacks have been allowed to regroup and flourish in the last six years to the point they've carved out their own little pseudo nation. That’s good on only one front – they’ve provided a target rich environment. They cannot be reasoned with or rehabilitated, they can only be killed like the mad dogs they are. Never forget and continue to make them pay.

I was assigned to the Pentagon on September 11, 2001. I remember a beautifully clear day where the oppressive summer Washington, DC heat was finally gone. We had recently dropped off my daughter for her freshman year at Boston University, my son was a junior in high school, and my wife worked at an adult day care facility in Northern Virginia. I was actually in a satellite office in Crystal City while our Pentagon offices were refurbished. My morning routine was to head out for a run along the Potomac River where there was a nice running trail. I ran around the Pentagon and glanced over at the helipad where I had taken several trips out of and then wound my way down to the river. I had just reached the river, on the opposite side of the Pentagon from the helipad, and turned south when I heard a very loud bang. There was always a lot of construction going on in nearby Crystal City so I initially thought that someone had used a little too much explosive for a new roadway.

Red X is Where the Plane Went in, Blue Line is my Running Route that Day
Yellow X is Where I was When the Plane Hit

As I continued my run I heard police sirens blooming from every direction. I reached a gap in the trees and could see a column of smoke rising from the Pentagon. I had just about reached the point where the running trail nears National Airport and I was greeted by a truly surreal sight. The airport, in reaction to the earlier attacks in New York City, was being emptied. People, with their luggage in tow, were wandering down the running trail with no real sense of where they were going, only that they had been ordered to leave the terminal. I gave directions to the nearest hotel to some and then headed back to my office, by now the sirens were almost deafening and traffic had come to a complete stop in both directions on the nearby George Washington Parkway. When I reached my office I learned the true scope of the disaster and watched the towers fall on a TV someone had set up in their cubicle. There were a series of follow up explosions as transformers blew up in reaction to the Pentagon disaster. A couple guys and I made our way over to the Pentagon to see if we could help with any evacuation but the area was already cordoned off. We helped the rapidly growing casualty collection in the south parking lot; there were a lot of dazed civilian workers. The military, even those wounded were trying to help out; we all realized we had just gone to war. Eventually we were ushered away as more of the professional emergency workers showed up. I returned to my office and decided it would be a good idea to let my family know I was alive. I called my wife who had heard and was just about to go into full blown panic mode. I called Boston University because I didn’t have my daughter’s dorm room number with me and when I explained where I was calling from the operator connected me directly, even though that wasn’t usually allowed. I spoke with my daughter’s roommate who promised to find my daughter and let her know. A similar call to my son’s high school followed by a call to my mother’s house. I had to leave a message there since she out shopping and she later told me that was the best phone message she ever received because she had convinced herself I had been killed after hearing the news on the car radio.

All buses, my normal way home, were shut down at the Pentagon. Washington DC was shutting down and everybody was released from work at the same time. I went to the Metro station and waited while five different trains, packed to the gills, went by until I was able to squeeze into one. I rode it as far as I could and then walked up to a nearby mall where I could wait for my wife to come pick me up. I sat in a bar and watched the day’s events unfold on TV. One of the other patrons claimed to have been driving on I-395 and saw the plane plow into the Pentagon. He said he would never forget seeing the airline lettering so clear and so close. The plane went right into the area near the helipad, where I had run ten minutes before. After an hour the entire mall closed and I had to go wait outside a bookstore, also closed, for about two hours before my wife was able to get me. One of the most memorable and cherished things from that horrible day were the phone calls we received all that night as friends and family from around the world, knowing I was assigned to the Pentagon, called to insure I was okay.

My wife was a little shocked the next day when I told her I was going back to work but I needed to, I was so angry. It didn’t help when I arrived at the Pentagon, smoke still rising with bodies still unrecovered, that I was greeted by a group of protestors reveling in the destruction. It took a lot of self-restraint not to kick some serious ass at that point. I was so glad Clinton was out of office because I knew he would have been incapable of making the tough decisions required by this act. He would have thrown a few cruise missiles and called it a day. 

We as a nation learned that day that there are some people who cannot be reasoned with and needed to die; that was the only way to end the threat and that you couldn’t do it from a distance. I also remembered the way the country came together for a short time and I felt glad my kids were around to see it; to see what a united America was like. This eroded over time as the politicians felt safe enough to stop cooperating again, but it did happen. It was another object lesson for evil as well, don’t wake up the sleeping giant, when you do, be prepared to experience unprecedented wrath. These were my memories of the day when everything changed, but maybe not enough.

Be-Deviled

I finished a book yesterday that the Cali-Daughter had been trying to get me to read for a long time. Since I am incapable of denying her anything I took a break from my headlong rush through Lawrence Block’s Matthew Scudder novels. I am so glad that I did with The Devil in the White City by Erik Larsen. This was one of my rare forays into non-fiction and I’m left with the distinct impression I may be denying myself some real entertainment.

Larsen tells two distinct stories intertwined around the Columbian Exposition in 1893 Chicago. I like to flatter myself that I at least a student , if not an devotee, of history but I was blissfully unaware of the monumental undertaking and accomplishment this world’s fair represented. Larsen tells the story of the prime moving force behind the fair, Daniel H. Burnham, who led the architectural design and then supervised construction. The other story was astounding as well because I’d heard literally nothing about the devil incarnate who stalked the edges of the fair and who may be the most lethal serial killer in US history, Dr. H.H. Holmes, with victims potentially in the hundereds.

It was kind of jarring to switch between the herculean efforts of Burnham to get the fair built in unprecedentedly short time and Holmes’ depraved activities in his nearby “murder castle”. By intertwining these completely different stories with his obviously well researched prose Larsen provides a fascinating look into Gilded Age Chicago as it struggled to establish itself as a world class city to compete with contemptuous East Coast cities, principally New York. This transition was highlighted in the Victorian society and the attendant increased freedom for women. This freedom brought Homes’ augmented access to victims, with the previously unheard of practice of unescorted women entering the work force. Holmes is described as a truly magnetic personality who swindled and charmed his way through Chicago just prior to the fair. He had no less than three wives, simultaneously. He designed a block long building, ostensibly to house guests for the fair but it reality a killing ground specifically set up to render the victims and prevent detection.

Holmes' Murder Castle

I was left with a feeling of incredulity that a society failed to protect itself from a beast such as Holmes although his crimes eventually did catch up with him due to a particularly gifted detective. It was also an age of belief in capability, a naiveté we have certainly lost to a great extent since. Burnham’s drive to get the fair built while fighting off politicians and the innumerable committees that any great endeavor seems to germinate was incredible. There was a collective effort to achieve greatness and pride in accomplishment that didn’t fall victim to the petty naysayers who hobble any similar striving in today’s society. I couldn’t help but compare Chicago’s pride and accomplishment with the recent failed attempt by Boston to host the Olympics. We definitely seem to have lost “something” in the years since giants like Burnham strode the earth.

The White City - The Chicago World's Fair 

I absolutely recommend this book to anyone and quickly. They’re making a movie out of it and Larsen’s meticulous research will certainly be sacrificed when Hollywood places the ole “based on true events” disclaimer in front. DiCaprio has been cast as Holmes which should be fascinating. Go read this book beforehand.

Progress of the First Blog Reader - As of Last Night

I dutifully reported the accomplishment of my assigned task to my daughter last night. She and Wingman had just left the doctor’s office for the latest pre-natal checkup. They reported the First Blog Reader has accelerated development and is growing faster than expected, three weeks ahead of where he/she should be at 31 weeks. The Wingman loudly interjected at this point that his genes were definitely responsible for the precocious development. It was so good to hear them so happy.

Warmed up and Fail

Back in February and March I was firmly convinced this whole global warming controversy was nonsense. It’s easy to explore magical thinking when you’re buried under ten feet of snow and summer temperatures are just a fleeting memory. I remember fantasizing, as I toiled endlessly on the driveway from hell (thought you’d heard the last of that didn’t you- gotcha) that I would miss the freezing cold when the heat and humidity of August descended. It turned out to be a pretty good, if overly dry, August. I never thought I’d be complaining about the heat and humidity is what amounts to mid-September, in New England. But this is what New England weather does to you, it refuses to allow you any predictability outside of the broad strokes of four variable seasons. Yesterday was the hottest day of the year and the humidity combined to produce as uncomfortable a day as possible in these climes. This is supposed to be the start of my favorite time of year – autumn. I just checked the calendar again – summer is supposed to be dying.

Since there were no competing crowds of Panamanian visitors last night for date night my favorite Panamanian and I went to see a movie. The Transporter Refueled attempts to re-energize the action franchise made famous by Jason Statham. You don’t go into a Transporter movie expecting any thespian pinnacles but the new lead actor makes Statham look like the second coming of Olivier. He had none of the charisma, athleticism, and tamped down energy of Statham. The only actor with any kind of acting talent in the entire cast was my favorite Roman legionnaire, Titus Pullo, who plays the dad. The fight scenes were amateurishly staged and the car chases, which should have been a centerpiece, forgettable. This was a cheap and very, very poor attempt and clearly aimed at idiots, such as myself, who would pay for a ticket, thinking the film would at least approach the fun of the original movies. It didn’t.

Inaction Price Comes Due

The international press has recently come screaming to cover the refugee crisis currently swamping Europe in large part because the heartbreaking images readily available make for “good TV”. A more responsible approach to news gathering would be to take the political leadership of the west to task for allowing the conditions which produced this crisis to fester. 

The Syrian government under Assad allowed Syria to be a staging base for the Iraq insurgency against the US. As with other cases in the recent history they reaped the benefit of allowing radicalism to take root which produced everybody’s favorite bogeyman – ISIS. With everybody hemming and hawing and dithering over the needed “coalition” and other than the occasional bombing campaign nothing has been done to remove this cancer from the map. The Syrian refugees whom Turkey has hosted for several years are giving up hope due to the inaction of virtually everybody to address ISIS’ continued and completely unimaginable existence. Since they’ve given up hope of returning to their homes they seek a better, safer place for their family – Europe.

While the progressive press is showering praise on the European countries willing to take in the refugees, why isn’t it asking more pointed questions about the conditions allowed to persist that forced these people away from their homes. I know the Cantankerous Find will come riding to the rescue of Saint Barack because I have the temerity to question his leadership. When you refuse to take action because you “must” have the agreement of all alleged “allies” then nothing will ever get done. The continued existence of ISIS is an abomination, they have repeatedly used chemical weapons (technically weapons of mass destruction) against Peshmerga forces, routinely execute citizens on street corners, employ slave labor, etc, etc. Yet our president sits behind his façade of multilateralism while the Middle East burns. If he doesn’t think the results of his inaction will not come home (to the good ole US of A) to roost at some point in the next ten years then he is ignoring history. I, like so many Syrian refugees, have lost faith he will ever do anything.

My Charming Dinner Date Last Night

On the entirely more mundane front I enjoyed a day at home with my favorite Panamanian yesterday. It was so cool to hear the reports of traffic gridlock while sitting at home not having to worry about it, for once. She did come home from her girls’ weekend escape with a bad headache which I tried to be gallant about. She was feeling better by the end of the day so I took her out for dinner as the sun set. I can also confirm that the suspected poison ivy in the favorite son’s front yard is confirmed.